Hello. I don't believe we've met, but I'm putting together a contact sheet for those of us with abilities to be able to reach out to each other easier, since we're fairly spread out for this mission. Care to volunteer?
She felt good, all things considered. The weight of going back to the house every night hadn’t felt apparent until the moment she’d checked herself and Lune into a suite near the convention centre. Standing in the lobby, a completely stuffed rolling suitcase in one hand and the air crisp and artificial-feeling, she’d realized she would never have to go back. Perhaps it was callous to feel relief, but it was true, and marrow-deep in her bones. She’d needed it.
And who better to spend the rest of the mission with than Lune, a friend, a voice of reason? Sciel does not often reach for the logic of the moment over the feelings, but it feels right, at least for the time, and Lune needs her. Helping her isn’t something she’d even needed to question.
The suite that will be home for the next little while is one of the only ones available at short notice, but it’s no problem for her credit card, and certainly bigger than they need. There’s only one bed, a “king”, but that’s fine; Sciel can still starfish in her sleep without encroaching on Lune’s space. There’d sometimes been less space between their bedrolls around the fire, even. There’s a small kitchen that Sciel has no intention of using, a comedically small table with a single chair, and a shower that seems ludicrously large. Why not just install a bath? Who knows. She likes how temporary it feels, though. Americans seem to have a fondness for trying on and discarding things like they’re in infinite supply, and the hotel feels just as disposable. When they’re done, they can just leave.
It also means whatever’s said here can stay here, too.
And how even to start?
Sciel sits cross legged in front of the open suitcase, which has a heap of clothes. Credit card, remember? She sorts through pants and blouses and long skirts and hose and pretty shoes and blue jeans, fishing around for something Lune might prefer. Lune and her dark colours –– not even a sliver of the smart purple stripe the rest of them wore. Where she’s sat, she can see Lune herself on one side of the suite, and Maelle draped over the couch by the air conditioner. No Gustave. He has a date that is not a date with his wife who is not his wife. Good luck to him.
“You’re going to have people gawking at you if we don’t put you in something less formal,” Sciel says, sober despite the wine. “You and I are similar enough in size…”
She purses her lips as she holds up a sleeveless blouse, as if dressing Lune like a paper doll from across the room. Her eyes are sharp over the neckline. It’s not about the clothes, really. It never is. She’s thinking about when the questions will start, and that she might as well open the floodgates a little herself, before she starts to feel like they’ve been opened on her.
Plus, it’s only right and fair and all those things.
“Also… I thought Maelle and I should get you up to speed on the situation. Particularly with Verso and Gustave.”
Lune is stood facing one of the windows, meticulously folding up her expedition sash into small squares, the emblazoned "33" staring up at her. She pauses, runs a thumb over the pattern. So many years of work, culminating into this. But there isn't any need for this now, is there? Their Expedition is done, and it both failed and succeeded. The Paintress is gone, but so is Lumière, and Lune is finding it hard to pin her hopes on some cosmic entity that has apparently promised their world returned to them in exchange for their efforts here, regardless of Sciel's optimism. She still isn't certain on the specifics of this deal.
Drinks at the restaurant had been good. She still can't believe Gustave is here, that they're all here. As much as that's a comfort, she also feels the slight distance between them and herself, having missed out on the experiences they'd gone through here without her.
Where's the reason in all this? Now that she's had a moment to think again, she just feels... overwhelmed, the wine in her belly both a help and hindrance. She hates feeling this unmoored.
What she's wearing feels rather incidental next to everything else, but she isn't going to stop Sciel from fussing, either. Not when even Lune can figure out that has nothing to do with her clothing or getting strange looks on the street.
She packs the folded up sash in her Pictos space for safekeeping and draws in a deep breath of the cool, crisp air. Air conditioning, she recalls distantly. Her focus sharpens when Sciel goes on, latching onto the lifeline thrown at her. She can do that. Focus on something else, find another issue to deal with that isn't her own mental state.
Lune turns, hands clasped loosely behind her back but her spine straight and shoulders back. Ready as always. "All right. Tell me."
It’s quiet in the hotel room. It’s their second, actually; it’s a much smaller building this time, boutique they call it, and it feels a little bit more like a home than last time. In some aspects, anyway. The art on the wall and eclectic combinations of furniture styles seem special. The empty drawers and uniform linens not so much. It’s a strange combination. Who wants a place that pretends to be home?
It’s just after dinner time. Though Sciel couldn’t imagine putting anything in her stomach, she wasn’t about to send Maelle home to Gustave with an empty stomach, either, so she’d picked up three plastic tins of noodles and beef and broccoli. One for her, one for Maelle, and one for Lune, whenever she gets back from her stroll. (This has not happened yet, so the remaining container sits on the coffee table, getting cold.) It had been a quiet meal, other than a half-hearted laugh about the cutlery situation; chopsticks make for eating a slow but novel experience. They finish somehow. Sciel finds herself glancing down the couch to Maelle multiple times, wondering what’s going on in her head, but she decides to let that breathe for a little before she probes.
Truthfully, she needs a minute to put her own thoughts in order. They keep pressing on the soft parts inside of her that fear they’ll never be in order again.
Why did she go?
But she knows she’s tired. It’s been a long day. It has been for a lot of people.
She looks sidelong at Maelle, smiling gently.
“I’m going to lay down for a bit,” Sciel says. “Maybe meditate a little. Would you like to join me?”
Maelle is quiet. The joy of having Lune finally with them is there, somewhere, but it's buried beneath the silence of unread messages. Verso is Verso, and he tends to disappear when one's back is turned, but she feels like this is something different. More. Then again, it could just be her nerves. The same nerves that always insist Gustave will be nowhere to be found if she lets him out of her sight for any significant amount of time.
It's been so hard to be anything but his little shadow, but now she finds herself worried about how easily he'll pick up on her displeasure. She can't tell him she's upset because Verso has been quiet. That she cares enough to be upset about such a thing. It will make him uncomfortable, she's sure, and she doesn't want any more of that.
Sciel is just as perceptive, though.
She's slow to respond, a slight frown on her lips as she considers. There's no way she doesn't just get sleepy.
Maelle sits cross-legged on the corner of the bed as she tracks Sciel with her eyes. Poor Sciel. Bad luck, but a sad thing to happen to someone that cares so deeply and so easily. What Maelle considers to be one of the best things about Sciel might be why her heart must hurt now.
She’s not sure which is worse: the pit in her stomach or the thrumming in her chest. It probably doesn’t matter. Neither will kill her.
“Just clothes and some toiletries,” she murmurs, hefting the suitcase onto the other side of the bed and flipping it open. “Nothing else here really matters.”
[ Sometime after Lune's talk with Gustave, after it becomes clear it doesn't look like Sciel will be returning to the apartment with Maelle from Sophie's, Lune can't help but reach out. It's getting late, but she doesn't think Sciel is asleep yet. Not tonight at least. But just in case she is, she opts to type. ]
[Sciel isn't sleeping. She hears the buzz of her network device somewhere on the couch with her, and she gropes amidst one of Sophie's fuzzy pink blankets to find it. She squints at the bright light of the screen, at the little letters. She types back:]
"It really is beautiful, here," Lune remarks, her pen scratching against paper as she scribbles another line onto her notebook. Her glamoured hair has been braided, the tail hanging down her shoulder as she bows her head over the pages and reveals the reason why it's so tightly bound; it gets in the way if left loose, annoying her.
"The biome is lovely in the Sirena territory too, but here it's like an eternal summer. I do wonder how the regions maintain such localized, steady climate... Do you think we'll run into that rabbit?"
There's barely a pause in between the two different thoughts, her mind busy in the way she loves best, puzzling over things. Lune's already filled several pages of her notebook in the time they've been wandering the wilds, unconcerned about the concept of potentially encroaching another court's territories.
Sciel loves summer. Even better to take advantage of it now, when the've undoubtedly got winter ahead of them in Etraya, and when the Umbraean court's castle is so drafty and cool without thousands of fae bodies thrumming within it. It's much more pleasant to stop for Lune's notes and drawings when it's warm, too; she sprawls out in the grass, her skin sun-warm and freckled, and she plucks blades of grass one by one, idly pinching their stalks and dragging her fingers upwards until all the florets bundle between her fingertips. She lets them go on the wind, and smiles sidelong at Lune.
"That Caerbannog thing?" She mangles that name, but close enough. "I'd like to see what it would try on us. It's been so many weeks since we had an actual fight that I'd be disappointed if it was even a hair smaller than a Stalact. And on that note, do you think Monoco's station ever melts out?"
[Not that she's IMPLYING Sciel is occasionally one that comes in late or anything. You know, it's just that sometimes Maelle is already warm in bed when she hears the front door open and close.]
[ There's a small envelope waiting for Sciel with her name printed on it. Inside is a white feather that shimmers in the light and a card with formal, looping script. ]
I got one of these in the last mission and I wanted you to have it. There's magic in it, I think, but even if there isn't, it's pretty to look at. Thanks for being one of the coolest people here.
Happy holidays, The Swan Prince (Noctis)
[ A doodle of a tiny black swan with a crown accompanies the signature. ]
[If this isn’t one of the cutest notes she’s ever gotten! Sciel smiles, leaning against the doorframe and rifling the edges of the feather between her fingers; how pretty.]
You’re so sweet, Noctis, it’s very pretty, magic or not!
Let me bring you lunch as thanks. I’ll bring my cards, too.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
@jaycetalis | text (timey-wimey date/time) ➞ Sciel Candide
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For Lune and Maelle
And who better to spend the rest of the mission with than Lune, a friend, a voice of reason? Sciel does not often reach for the logic of the moment over the feelings, but it feels right, at least for the time, and Lune needs her. Helping her isn’t something she’d even needed to question.
The suite that will be home for the next little while is one of the only ones available at short notice, but it’s no problem for her credit card, and certainly bigger than they need. There’s only one bed, a “king”, but that’s fine; Sciel can still starfish in her sleep without encroaching on Lune’s space. There’d sometimes been less space between their bedrolls around the fire, even. There’s a small kitchen that Sciel has no intention of using, a comedically small table with a single chair, and a shower that seems ludicrously large. Why not just install a bath? Who knows. She likes how temporary it feels, though. Americans seem to have a fondness for trying on and discarding things like they’re in infinite supply, and the hotel feels just as disposable. When they’re done, they can just leave.
It also means whatever’s said here can stay here, too.
And how even to start?
Sciel sits cross legged in front of the open suitcase, which has a heap of clothes. Credit card, remember? She sorts through pants and blouses and long skirts and hose and pretty shoes and blue jeans, fishing around for something Lune might prefer. Lune and her dark colours –– not even a sliver of the smart purple stripe the rest of them wore. Where she’s sat, she can see Lune herself on one side of the suite, and Maelle draped over the couch by the air conditioner. No Gustave. He has a date that is not a date with his wife who is not his wife. Good luck to him.
“You’re going to have people gawking at you if we don’t put you in something less formal,” Sciel says, sober despite the wine. “You and I are similar enough in size…”
She purses her lips as she holds up a sleeveless blouse, as if dressing Lune like a paper doll from across the room. Her eyes are sharp over the neckline. It’s not about the clothes, really. It never is. She’s thinking about when the questions will start, and that she might as well open the floodgates a little herself, before she starts to feel like they’ve been opened on her.
Plus, it’s only right and fair and all those things.
“Also… I thought Maelle and I should get you up to speed on the situation. Particularly with Verso and Gustave.”
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Drinks at the restaurant had been good. She still can't believe Gustave is here, that they're all here. As much as that's a comfort, she also feels the slight distance between them and herself, having missed out on the experiences they'd gone through here without her.
Where's the reason in all this? Now that she's had a moment to think again, she just feels... overwhelmed, the wine in her belly both a help and hindrance. She hates feeling this unmoored.
What she's wearing feels rather incidental next to everything else, but she isn't going to stop Sciel from fussing, either. Not when even Lune can figure out that has nothing to do with her clothing or getting strange looks on the street.
She packs the folded up sash in her Pictos space for safekeeping and draws in a deep breath of the cool, crisp air. Air conditioning, she recalls distantly. Her focus sharpens when Sciel goes on, latching onto the lifeline thrown at her. She can do that. Focus on something else, find another issue to deal with that isn't her own mental state.
Lune turns, hands clasped loosely behind her back but her spine straight and shoulders back. Ready as always. "All right. Tell me."
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For Maelle
It’s just after dinner time. Though Sciel couldn’t imagine putting anything in her stomach, she wasn’t about to send Maelle home to Gustave with an empty stomach, either, so she’d picked up three plastic tins of noodles and beef and broccoli. One for her, one for Maelle, and one for Lune, whenever she gets back from her stroll. (This has not happened yet, so the remaining container sits on the coffee table, getting cold.) It had been a quiet meal, other than a half-hearted laugh about the cutlery situation; chopsticks make for eating a slow but novel experience. They finish somehow. Sciel finds herself glancing down the couch to Maelle multiple times, wondering what’s going on in her head, but she decides to let that breathe for a little before she probes.
Truthfully, she needs a minute to put her own thoughts in order. They keep pressing on the soft parts inside of her that fear they’ll never be in order again.
Why did she go?
But she knows she’s tired. It’s been a long day. It has been for a lot of people.
She looks sidelong at Maelle, smiling gently.
“I’m going to lay down for a bit,” Sciel says. “Maybe meditate a little. Would you like to join me?”
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It's been so hard to be anything but his little shadow, but now she finds herself worried about how easily he'll pick up on her displeasure. She can't tell him she's upset because Verso has been quiet. That she cares enough to be upset about such a thing. It will make him uncomfortable, she's sure, and she doesn't want any more of that.
Sciel is just as perceptive, though.
She's slow to respond, a slight frown on her lips as she considers. There's no way she doesn't just get sleepy.
"How is that different from a nap?"
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text
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There's only about a hundred people here, so they probably won't be strangers for long. Why?
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action | backdated to the earth mission
"... what are you gonna bring?"
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“Just clothes and some toiletries,” she murmurs, hefting the suitcase onto the other side of the bed and flipping it open. “Nothing else here really matters.”
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text | backdated
Hey.
Are you two okay?
[ Of course not, but. Yeah. ]
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I may swear soon. I can feel it. But yes. You?
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text | before shit hits the fan during the test drive
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How are you?/
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un; champion (text)
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Nothing we couldn’t handle, but we’re taking some time to recover. How about you? Are you alright?
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We can just continue on here!
okay!
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/Yes, how can I help?/
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CHEAT SHEET, SORRY
adventuring!
"The biome is lovely in the Sirena territory too, but here it's like an eternal summer. I do wonder how the regions maintain such localized, steady climate... Do you think we'll run into that rabbit?"
There's barely a pause in between the two different thoughts, her mind busy in the way she loves best, puzzling over things. Lune's already filled several pages of her notebook in the time they've been wandering the wilds, unconcerned about the concept of potentially encroaching another court's territories.
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"That Caerbannog thing?" She mangles that name, but close enough. "I'd like to see what it would try on us. It's been so many weeks since we had an actual fight that I'd be disappointed if it was even a hair smaller than a Stalact. And on that note, do you think Monoco's station ever melts out?"
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post fairyland mission
[Not that she's IMPLYING Sciel is occasionally one that comes in late or anything. You know, it's just that sometimes Maelle is already warm in bed when she hears the front door open and close.]
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Not tonight, since I’m waiting to hear about my plans with you.
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action ➤ delivery!
I got one of these in the last mission and I wanted you to have it. There's magic in it, I think, but even if there isn't, it's pretty to look at. Thanks for being one of the coolest people here.
Happy holidays,
The Swan Prince
(Noctis)
[ A doodle of a tiny black swan with a crown accompanies the signature. ]
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You’re so sweet, Noctis, it’s very pretty, magic or not!
Let me bring you lunch as thanks. I’ll bring my cards, too.
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